Cheaters, Lovers, and Mike Chang
by flirtingintechnicolor
Summary: Blaine ran a hand through his heavily gelled locks and rested his forehead on his fist. Squeezing his eyes shut, he continued. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, there's someone else."
1. Tears, Sweat, and Coffee

Bonjour, I'm Susan, new to this whole "fan fiction" thing. This is the first thing I've ever written, not only for this site, but for fanfic in general. I used to role play, and I feel like I kind of tied that into my writing style, except it's a story of one author…if that makes any sense.

The plot's pretty easy to tell, Kurt's knight in shining armor left him for a new fair maiden, and in a mixture of humor, romance, angst, friendship, hurt, comfort, and Mike Chang, well, just read, and you'll figure out what happens next.

I'll be posting more chapters soon! Please review, and be as harsh as you want. I'm a dapper infant when it comes to this.

DISCLAIMER:

I don't own Kurt Hummel, Blaine Anderson, Glee, or anything else mention here. Well-I do own a copy of 'Marley and Me', but someone else can take it if they want.

Enjoy!

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><p>Kurt Hummel crawled into the nest that had been once called a bed. His accumulation of pillows of all fabrics and sizes were compacted snugly around him. He slammed his head back, hitting the headboard and wincing. His giant quilt was wrapped around his long body tightly as he grabbed for another Klee-nex, noisily blowing his nose into it. A hand rubbed his knee in an attempt to comfort him.<p>

It'd been six months, two weeks, and three days since he'd started dating his first boyfriend, Blaine Anderson. Five months, one week, and five days since he'd first told him he loved him, and realized he really did. Three months, two weeks, and four days since they'd first spent the night together. Two months, one week, and six days since they'd first had the conversation of living together after high school. One month, three weeks, and four days since Blaine'd first said he wanted to grow old together with Kurt, because he'd love him forever. One month, two weeks, and five days since Blaine'd stolen Kurt in the middle of the night, whisked him up to Westerville, Ohio, and ordered Chinese and run to the drive through together, in the last romantic gesture he'd ever perform towards Kurt.

One month, one week, and one day since Blaine had broken up with Kurt, broken his heart, and gone AWOL in terms of his life.

Two hours since he'd gone to Breadsticks with Finn Hudson, Sam Evans, Rachel Berry, Mike Chang, and Mercedes Jones, and seen Blaine saunter in with Wes Montgomery, David Thompson and a Scandinavian-looking blonde Kurt'd never seen before. The second Blaine put his feet on the welcome mat, Kurt locked his blue-green eyes with him, and everything he'd forgotten about the night a month, two weeks, and one day ago came crashing back.

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><p>Kurt and Blaine had met up at their favorite hole-in-the-wall, like any other day. Heavy downpour ran down the glass panels on their coffee shop's walls. The local pop station seemed to keep a steady beat with the lightning flashing outside, as if they were tuned into eachother in some trippy techno music video. They'd made it inside before they could be fully drenched, but Kurt kept his hands wrapped around the cup fiercly in an attempt to warm at least some of him up. He'd never though he'd actually appreciate the flimsy cups that practically burnt your hands when you picked them up. He stole a glance at Blaine from across the table. His boyfriend's never-leaving-his-body Dalton Academy blazer fit him right in every way, unlike the expression on his face. Until recently, Blaine had always carried a dorky, impish (rather sexy) look, his adorable smirk and gelled-to-death curls that clogged the atmosphere's pores every time Blaine opened a can of hair spray. His hazel eyes usually either carried a slightly drowsy look or a subtly playful glance that sometimes bounced into them. Tonight, however, his vision looked sharp, the closest thing you could get to a glare without putting any anger into it. Kurt noticed that Blaine's teeth were grinding, and his hair had been overdone more than usual. He flashed back to a memory of Blaine telling him once that when he was about to do something he was scared of or something he'd regret, he delayed by doing his hair for long periods of time. Kurt estimated that you could get more grease out of Blaine's hair right now that you could out of a French-fry boiler at Burger King that hadn't been washed in two years. He didn't know where that sat on the Richter Scale of Hair Gel, but he wasn't getting a good vibe from it.<p>

The evening had been full of Blaine staring into his medium drip, extra sugar and forcing small talk. Kurt sat across the table, rethinking everything that had happened that week. Blaine's texts had been rather unflirty, he'd noticed, but that could mean anything. Maybe he was overdramatizing, but he had been thinking about the fact that he hadn't seen Blaine in almost two weeks. He'd asked him if they could get together a good four or five times the last twelve days, and he'd shot him down each time. Never any reason, just a quick "Sorry, can't tonight, some other time." At least he'd kept that informal promise, asking Kurt to coffee earlier that day. He'd been a little put out when his expectations of a date that would make up for all the failed meetings had instead turned into a silent, awkward rendezvous.

_But things were kind of heavy__  
><em>_You brought me to life__  
><em>_Now every February__  
><em>_You'll be my valentine, valentine_

Over the café speakers, Katy Perry's Top 40 song "Teenage Dream" began to blare. The apples of Kurt's cheekbones were soon covered in blush, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Remember when we met for the first time? You sang me this very song."

_I can't sleep__  
><em>_Let's runaway__  
><em>_And don't ever look back__  
><em>_Don't ever look back_

Blaine peered up from over his cardboard cup, and squinted his eyes as if trying to figure out what Kurt was talking about. Finally, his eyes returned to their semi-glare, "Right. The Warblers performed this for the students."

_I finally found you__  
><em>_My missing puzzle piece__  
><em>_I'm complete_

For the second time that night, Kurt was let down. He'd expected at least a grin, maybe an invitation to put his hands on his skin tight jeans, or him singing along to maybe a few bars. Instead, Blaine had simply returned to sulking back into his mindless fiddling.

_I might get your heart racing__  
><em>_In my skin-tight jeans__  
><em>_Be your teenage dream tonight_

Kurt reached for his boyfriend's hand and looked him square in the eye. If there was one thing Kurt Hummel was good at, it was staring. When he was young, his father told him that he used to randomly pick out someone in a crowd or restaurant and stare them down until they left. In middle school, Kurt had tried to break his impulse to stare after a young seventh-grade Puck came over to him, punching him in the gut and ordering him to quit freaking him out. He never really was able to drop the habit, and once he got into high school he realized that his stare helped him pick up on things other people didn't, simple details in the fabric no one else noticed. So, as much as Blaine attempted to avoid eye contact, he wasn't able to. Leaning across the table so that he was almost nose-to-nose with Blaine, he started to speak. "Blaine, is there something wrong? You're not acting like yourself. Is there something wrong at home, or at school? You know you can tell me anything. Right?"

Blaine gave up trying to take his hazel eyes off Kurt's and stared back "No, everything's okay at Dalton and with my family. But there's something I need to tell you, and I want you to know that it's not easy for me to say this."

A lump had developed in Kurt's throat. He had a feeling that he knew whatever Blaine was going to say, he wasn't going to like it.

"After you went back to McKinley, the long distance became difficult for you and me. We hardly get to see each other anymore, and that's really strained the relationship." _Oh, God, please tell me this isn't what I think it is,_ Kurt thought to himself. He felt his eyes damped at the edges. He wanted to scream out that he'd asked him to hang out many times, and Blaine'd said no to all of them. "I don't really know if the spark is still here, either. We'd kind of developed into um, routines of sorts." _Yes, Blaine. That's what people in relationships do._ Kurt frantically mused in his mind. "Nothing really, well, exciting about us as a, like, couple anymore." Blaine ran a hand through his heavily gelled locks and rested his forehead on his fist. Squeezing his eyes shut, he continued. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, there's someone else, too.'

With those last four words, Kurt felt his heart crack into a thousand pieces, and the gooey love, fantasies for two, and romance spill all over his fitted Alexander McQueen charcoal-colored jacket. Shit, that wasn't his heart; he'd dropped his coffee, soaking his expensive designer garment. The coffee sunk deeper and deeper through the fabric until he could feel it on the skin of his chest. It mixed in with the sweat he'd suddenly perspired. Blaine'd found someone else…wasn't that his worst nightmare? Maybe that's where he'd been the last few nights, hooking up with his new boy toy, laughing at the thought of his stupid little boyfriend, sitting at home in his kilt fretting over his baby Blainey this, Blainey that. Who was he? Was it a new student at Dalton that he hadn't seen before? Someone he met at a concert he went to without Kurt? Was it a clerk at the Gap? Kurt imagined a strong, tall, masculine Native American guy, with seductive brown eyes and a killer smile. Maybe an Irish-looking hot nerd with bright red hair and perfectly placed freckles, where Blaine could kiss each one individually. _Stop, Kurt. Quit imagining him, stop it, stop it, stopistopitstopitstopit. _Tears sprung from Kurt's eyes, mixing in with the sweat and coffee. He automatically threw his hands over his eyes. He didn't need to embarrass himself on top of everything else. Even when Kurt didn't get solos he'd worked his ass off for, or when tacky-colored frozen slushies were thrown all over his clothes, or even when Karofsky had pressed his dirty pig-like lips on his, stealing his first kiss, Kurt never cried. Being himself already made him vulnerable enough.

Blaine's voice started up again, and Kurt looked over his fingers at him. God, what else did he have to say? "I think we should break up." He looked over pitifully at Kurt, suddenly everything about him despicable. His dwarfish stature. His skin pale from spending his entire time playing guitar and showing off for his stupid friends. His disgustingly gelled hair messed up after running his freakishly small baby hands through it so much. Who did that, besides Robert Pattison when he was trying to pull off his angst-y vampire fan girl look? Suddenly a thousand bitter thoughts ran through Kurt's mind, until he remembered that he'd never run his hands through Blaine's loose curls again, and he turned into emotional chaos again.

He couldn't take another second of this. The empathetic look on Blaine's face was something he didn't need. He said not a word, grabbed his messenger bag and stood up out of his chair. "Kurt, wait, can't I talk to you a little bit about my part in this?"

With that, he broke into a run out of the café, and didn't look back.

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><p>I'll try to get the next chapter up by tonight! Au revoir!<p> 


	2. Storming Melodies and a Hundred Memories

I am a horrible person. It took me way, way too long to get this up there.

I hope it's worth it, and the next chapter will be up at some point. In the meantime, please don't kill me.

This one isn't as long as the others are going to turn out, don't worry. I've written the entire story in my head, and this is a prequel to the next few chapters.

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><p>It'd been seven days since the Monday that Blaine had confessed there was someone else, and Kurt had made a fool of himself dashing out of the coffee shop, covered in coffee and saltwater tears. The weather in Lima had been dreary since that night. The summer drought that had plagued their little town in Ohio had been "miraculously restored into a land of living waters," the local news stations were describing it from behind their fake beauty-pageant worthy smiles. The town was covered in grey skies, dispiriting storms, and fog that stuck to the back of your neck. It was the kind of weather Kurt usually was fond of, but now, it just increased the gloominess of his life. The seemingly romantic downpours reminded him constantly that there was no longer anyone to run to when the thunder claps frightened him. Every gale and gust of wind made him bitter as they rocked his home back and forth. Along with Blaine, the constant tempest had him shredding tears unwaveringly.<p>

Kurt had spent the last few days in his room in the basement. He was starting to understand why Finn and Rachel and Quinn were so unhappy all the time. They were always breaking up with someone, or being broken up with. He couldn't imagine having his heart broken monthly, like them. Last time he'd felt this awful, his dad had had a heart attack, and everything had come down like dominos. Tissues were spread all over his comforter. His gangly legs were twisted in the blanket from rolling over this way and that throughout the night. Nightmares of Blaine and his lover seemed as if they had seared a permanent place in his imagination. The worst part of the nightly horrors was that any one of them could come true, the thought of it making his heart jolt with the pounding pulse of fear.

It was one of those rare times where he didn't give a damn what he looked like. He'd taken a pair of Finn's gray drawstring sweatpants and tightened them as much as he could around his bony hips. That and rolling the pant leg cuffs up were the only things that kept him _and_ them from falling down. He paired it with a long black loose fitting t-shirt he had accidently bought at a department store once. It was covered in dirty watercolors and ink; being the shirt he designed clothes in when he painted them on notebook paper. Kurt took the collar of his shirt and wiped his nose on it, like a little boy. He felt like a child, in the enormous clothes, and the hysterics he'd experienced the last few days.

The storm outside boomed, shaking the entire frame of the house. The roof upstairs was leaking, and he could hear Finn and Burt shouting at each other to where each drip was. Carole's unmistakable feminine footsteps ran back and forth, dumping buckets and towel drying the hardwood floors. Kurt himself sat up on his bed, as the television screen glowed in the otherwise pitch-black room. He'd watched the DVD over a dozen times over the course of the last week. He wouldn't have been surprised if he ended up burning a hole in the silver disc from constant spinning. Rubbed raw eyes glued on the screen, his chapped lips were in sync with every word the speakers said.

Wesley and David were clearly doing the camera work, as the picture shook badly. A black and white cardboard sign was held in front of the tape recorder, the words "A Very Blaine Production" displayed in big block letters. In Technicolor now, the poster board was lifted over the lens to reveal the lead actor, in all his blazer glory. His face was slightly pink at the cheekbones, straightening his tie as he looked into the camera. "Hi, I'm Blaine Anderson, and this is One Hundred Reasons Why-, " he stopped, then stared at someone in above the television that the viewer couldn't see. "Cut! Can we take that out?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows. "I don't need to introduce myself to Kurt."

Wes's voice was heard, as if God was talking down to Blaine. "Of course I'll take it out. I'm sure it's embarrassing." The camera quavered as David most likely hit Wes in a fit of giggles. "Okay, let's take it up again, alright?"

"Okay. And….action." said Blaine, as he sat up again. "Hey, Kurt. I know our sixth month anniversary is coming up, and I just wanted you to know, this has been the greatest six months of my life. Everything about you, about us, is absolutely, undeniably amazing." He opened his mouth to say something, but then stopped. Taking a deep breath, his voice lowered down half an octave. Whenever he was saying something honest that he'd be thinking about for a while, his voice dipped into a mellow rumble. "I love you, Kurt, and I've been trying to come up with a creative half-year anniversary gift to celebrate this occasion. So, I decided to write you a list of one hundred reasons why I love you like I do. Here it goes," he grinned, sitting up straight in his chair. "Number one, I love how you're one of the bravest people I've ever met. Two, I adore that smile you make when you open your eyes in the morning, before you register the light in the room. Three, your hair when you get out of the shower or the pool. Four, how no matter what I do, you always find reasons to forgive me and accept my apologies. Five, the fact that you can hit a High F. I still don't understand how you do it. Six, that even after Karofsky did everything that he did to you, you still try to help him get past his prejudice and be open about who he is. Seven, that you put up with me kissing Rachel Berry and serenading Jeremiah at the Gap. Eight, our first kiss at Dalton, the first in a long line of perfect ones. Nine, when you randomly jump into my arms when we're walking alone, and tell me you love the feeling of being in my arms. Ten, the feeling of being in _your_ arms."

Kurt re-watched all of it, one after the other, as Blaine went on, without falter, of things he loved about him. "Number seventeen, how you always eat the kernels of popcorn when we go to the movies out of the bottom of the bag." "Number twenty three, the little noise you make when you get tired and are trying not to yawn." "Number twenty nine, your addiction to Kleenex Lotion Tissues when you have a cold." "Number thirty two, when you rub my shoulders after I've been driving us for a long time." "Number thirty six, when you use SAT words in normal every day conversations." "Number forty one, the picture messages you send me of what you're going to wear that day. I feel like I'm dressing you like a paper doll when you let me choose your shoes." "Number forty eight, when you bring me cupcakes and a medium drip on the weekends during the occasions where I can't leave Dalton because of studying." "Number fifty, you know my coffee order." "Number fifty four, when you come over to my house, and leave little messages for me where you know I'll see them after you've left." "Number fifty nine, when you sing when you think I'm not listening." "Number fifty seven, your eyes after you've been crying over something silly, like animal movies or a sad commercial." "Number sixty two, when I catch you curled up with a good book, and you're chewing your fingernail in that cute little way that you do." "Number sixty five, your love for all things, no matter their shape or size." "Number sixty six, how you get as excited as a British fan girl over anything Harry Potter. It's adorable, and you made me sit through all eight films. I won't lie, you made me fall in love with the character just as much as you love the books." "Number seventy one, when you and Rachel duet. I know you love my voice along with yours, but you can't compare our duets with yours. She's an incredible singer, and your Wicked duets on YouTube make my heart drop." "Number seventy four, your talent, and how I know you're going to end up on Broadway or in Hollywood someday." "Number seventy seven, when you're horrified over something someone's said, and your eyes grow large and you whack me on the shoulder with your knuckles. You're adorable when you're mad." "Number eighty one, dancing with you at prom. You helped me face my fears, and faced your own at the same time." "Number eighty five, the first time I told you I loved you, back after Nationals. And you said it back." "Number eighty nine, your laugh when you hear something absurd." "Number ninety four, your height compared to mine." "Number ninety six, how someone as incredible as you, fell in love with someone as ordinary as myself, and waited even after I blew you off for months." "Number ninety seven, our combined love for Christmas duets." "Number ninety eight, how you've decided that our children are going to be named Rorick and Patrick. And how okay I am with it." "Number ninety nine, the day you walked into Dalton for the first time, and I met you on the staircase. Without that day, none of this would have been possible." "Number one hundred." By the point, Blaine's voice was starting to go away from talking non-stop for almost half an hour, but he kept going. He leaned on his elbow resting on his knee, and tilted his head, smiling. "How easy, and perfect it feels, for me to love you. Happy six month anniversary, Kurt."

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><p>A few hours later into the night, the door to the basement opened above him. A pair of feet slowly made their way down the stairs. Muting "Marley and Me", he heard a female voice call out to him. "Aw, hell, no, Kurt. What's going on? You haven't answered my texts, spoken a word at school, and now I come downstairs to see you living like this?" Mercedes climbed down the stairs and sat on the edge of Kurt's bed. She didn't take a second glance at the piles of tissues or hoards of Starbucks, Dunn Brothers, Lima Bean, McDonalds, Village Inn, and other assorted coffee cups surrounding him. Wherever he could get his father, Carole, and Finn to pick him up coffee, he accepted it. He was quiet as she stared at him with her pitiful brown eyes. Finally, she looked up at the film silently playing on the screen. "The dog dies," she quipped.<p>

"Good," said Kurt, bitterness in his voice coming out. His hardly combed head lifted off his smushed pillow, and looked Mercedes in the eye. Automatically after he said it, his face turned dark crimson. He'd watched this film fourteen times already, and when the scene changed to the veterinarian's office, he leaped out of bed to eject the disc. He couldn't even make it through Bambi without sobbing over the fawn's mother.

Mercedes knew him well enough that he couldn't handle the thought of an animal dying, let alone be a smart aleck about it. She asked again, this time more gently. "Kurt, what's going on? I'm your best friend. You need to tell me, babe." She slid to the head of the bed next to him, and stroked the side of his arm. "It's Blaine, isn't it?" With her arm wrapped around his shoulders, he leaned into her and just couldn't contain it anymore. Halfway speaking and halfway weeping so hard that he couldn't speak, he told her everything. He knew he was lucky to have her as a best friend, but she wasn't a thousandth of what Blaine was to him. It was like comparing a Target-brand white tee to a silk Michael Kors dress shirt. Sure, Mercedes was better than anything bought at a megasuperstore, but he'd never be in love with her.

"Oh, Kurt…" Mercedes said quietly, ignoring his desperate tone and instead holding him tighter. Kurt thought of a mama grizzly bear and her cub. "What an ass. Number Six of Mercedes Jones' Rules for a Clean and Fabulous Break Up: Never imply that there's someone else unless you really want to break his slash hers heart. It sucks, doesn't it? Having him play with your trust like that."

He glared at her, eyebrows furrowed. "You're not helping much with that one, you know," he snapped as he wiped his nose on the back of his wrist. " He sat up, though, and nodded weakly. "I'll admit, though, I was thinking the same thing. What am I supposed to do now?"

"Move on with your life. You can't spend the rest of it, lying on your deathbed, staring at the never changing hairstyle of Jennifer Aniston and getting fat."

Kurt's glower could have burned a whole through Mercedes's forehead. "I am _not _getting _fat_."

"You will be if you keep living like this, you know. I don't have an issue with having meat on your bones, but I know you, Kurt. You treasure your shape like your voice. You can't expect to keep your figure if you aren't going to ever move again."

Scoffing, he rolled his eyes. "My body is a temple. Anyways, you know damn well that I'm not a depression eater. I'm a depression non-eater."

Mercedes raised her eyebrows and clucked her tongue. "Still, your clothes will start to sag in all the wrong places."

"Okay, fine. You win that one. Still, what am I supposed to do without Blaine? He's smart, and gorgeous, and talented, and dorky, and caring, and perfect," he moaned. Sitting up, he wrapped his arms around his shins and rested the side of his head on his knee caps. "Every night, we'd talk on the phone for hours. He'd always hang up first, because he said that I'd never fall asleep if he didn't. He'd bring me steaming cups of coffee whenever I was planning on having an all-nighter. When I'd get angry and storm off, he'd run after and grab me from behind, telling me how sorry he was and hugging me until I'd break down and forgive him. He always tried to look nice for me. At first, I thought it was just because he had the same adoration for designer clothes that I did. Then, though, I saw photographs of him on Facebook from when he was out with his friends without me, and it turns out that he's as comfortable in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt as Sam or Puck. That's when I realized that he really did care about what I thought about him. He was there for me when I needed him, back in the days of Karofsky, and he was there for me on some of the happier occasions. He has that smile, and those eyes, and that look… He'd take me on the sappiest, most romantic adventures he could think of, at least once a week. He'd whisk me away from whatever I was doing, and transport me to the land of silly love songs and places only we knew and kiss me like only he could. Every move he made, every laugh he made, every puppy-dog face, was beautiful." His face had tears running over already-made trails across his face. The crying never stopped, he thought, as he rubbed his eyes red. "Blaine's gone, Mercedes, and I don't know what to do without him."

"I know this might be hard to believe, Kurt, but you aren't the first person who's ever been dumped, left heart broken and feeling like it's the end of the world. I mean, really, look at Ra-," she halted abruptly. She jumped off his bed in a flash and kissed him on both cheeks. "Kurt, I love you to bits, but I have to go. Be in glee club tomorrow, or I'll find you and drag your skinny white ass there myself."

"Wait, where are you going?" he yelled after her, but she'd already jolted up the stairs and slammed the door.

Reviews are like cookies. I like them.


	3. The Changtervention

**I've gotten a few messages asking me why Mike Chang is mentioned in the title of this fan fiction. Here's where he starts becoming one of the main characters.**

**I wish I was allowed to choose three main characters in the description. Spoiler, this story will contain points of view from Mike, Kurt _and _Blaine. Next chapter should pop up any day now! Review and I'll love you for the rest of my existence.**

**FAQ-**

**Q: Why do you hate Blaine so much?**

**A: I don't! Absolutely don't, one bit. He's one of my favorite characters in the world. I enjoy making people seem like jerks, I guess.**

**Q: What's with your ruining of Klaine? Do you really dislike it that much?**

**A: NO! Klaine will be forever. TOGETHER. But I like taking perspectives I don't enjoy, and that includes a Klaineless story.**

**Q: Do you think Klaine is endgame?**

**A: I think the only endgame in Glee that I can vouch to is Blainiture. The writers change their minds too much for me to have the slightest clue.**

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><p>Monday morning, Kurt held his locker open next to the trash can. Slowly, he picked off everything that had to do with He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. Instant Polaroid pictures of them together at Dalton, cheap mall photo booth prints of kisses behind the black curtains, magazine letters spelling "courage", Blaine's school portrait he had had since the very beginning, and his favorite snap shot, ever. Blaine was sitting on his comforter, legs dangling off the edge. He had a pen in his teeth, and a coiled notebook with study notes scribbled all over it in his lap. The freedom of his curls in his hair, the rumpled uniform jacket on his bone-and-muscle shoulders, his unwashed face showing every flawless flaw made Kurt want him more than anything. As he stood by his locker, a dozen photographs in the garbage, he pondered throwing it away. "Just this one photo," he mumbled to himself, shoving it in the back pocket of his "ex-girlfriend" skinny jeans.<p>

He slammed his locker door shut to see Mercedes face on the other side. "Come on," she said as she waved her hand in the direction of the choir room. "We want to talk to you."

Kurt was met with a number of familiar, concerned looking faces when he walked into glee club. Mr. Shuester was leaning on the piano with his arms crossed in front of him.

"Am I on 'Intervention'?" Kurt gulped slowly.

Mr. Shue chuckled, "Well, I guess it's an intervention of some sorts, seeing we're all here because we care about you-"

Brittany Pierce piped up from painting her nails Nantucket blue in the last row. "Wait, I thought we were here because Kurt got dumped?" Santana Lopez elbowed her in the ribs.

"We care about him, which is why we want him to know that we're here for him during everything, including his first break up." Mr. Shuester emphasized, drawling it out so Brittany was sure to understand. After a slight "Ohhh," from her seat, he turned back to Kurt.

"Look, guys, I know you think you're doing the right thing, but I really don't need any help. I'm Kurt Hummel, and I can handle something as everyday as a break up. I'm not as weak as you guys think I am, you know. I'm totally fine, guys."

"Then why haven't you left the basement in over a week, except to come to school and grab coffee from mom and Burt?" Finn Hudson shot back. Kurt glared at him from the front of the room. Finn just shrugged, like "Hey, you were asking for it."

Rachel quipped from the back, always having something to say. "You haven't sung in Glee club hardly at all, and when Mr. Shue offered to have you pick out a song for Sectionals, you declined. As a fellow unappreciated star in this school," a few of the other students rolled their eyes, but she continued, "I know that the real Kurt would never turn down that opportunity."

"You wore the same thing twice last week. You haven't even tried to match your clothes, either. You can't tell us that's normal," Artie Abrams volunteered.

"You've always been weak and skinny, but you've lost a ton of weight, bro." said Noah Puckerman. "I know we've never really hung out much or anything, but even I can tell you aren't good."

Brittany raised her hand in the back of the risers. "Yes, Brittany?" asked Mr. Shuester, nodding towards her.

"Last week, I asked you if baby leprechauns were born with green top hats, and you said leprechauns weren't real and to leave you alone," Brittany said softly, looking down at her crossed legs. "I always thought you were really nice, Kurt."

Kurt was speechless. As he stood next to the piano facing everyone, his mouth gaping open, Quinn Fabray opened her perfect little lips. "We've all dealt with our fair share of breakups, Kurt. Think of Finn and I, how many times have I gone through this exact same thing?"

"Rachel and I, too. It's as if there's a group of people standing up above us, writing scripts of our lives and forcing us into endless love triangles," called Finn.

"Don't forget, I dated Blaine Warbler, too." Rachel just _had _to carp. "He dumped me because he didn't even like girls."

Mercedes smiled slightly next to him, "I felt the same when I found out you had another girl back at the beginning of our friendship," she admitted.

"Tina and I," named Artie.

"Sam and I," listed Quinn.

"Santana and I," called Sam Evans.

"Puckerman and I," shot Santana.

"Zizes and I," continued Puck.

Lauren Zizes rolled her eyes, "We never even dated, you dumbass."

"It still hurt, baby," said Puck, flashing his dramatic puppy dog eyes that had never worked to date.

"Tina and I," added Mike Chang. Tina Cohen-Chang blushed at her name being called out twice.

"Holly Holiday and I," finished Mr. Shuester. "Kurt, we can't completely know what you're going through. Every relationship is different. But we can get the gist of what you're feeling. You have to get that just because someone's left your life, not everyone has. We've all had our heartbreaking times, but you're strong, independent, clever, incredible young man. Anyone would be lucky to have you in their life."

Mercedes cut in, "Just because Blaine didn't realize that, it doesn't mean you aren't. It just means Blaine's damn stupid."

Mr. Shuester laughed, "Thanks for the words of wisdom, Mercedes. Now, Kurt, the glee kids have decided that they want to sing you a song, so that you realize that we'll always be here for you."

"You guys really don't have to do that," Kurt insisted, putting his hands up. "This is plenty."

"Oh, come on, Kurt. Just let us do our thing, then you can go back to shriveling away to nothing in your basement," Sam pleaded, interlocking his fingers as if he was a beggar.

Sighing through his nose, he crossed his arms. "Alright. Go ahead," he surrendered, leaning back. The pianist and band started up on a soft beat that he didn't quite recognize. Finn was the first to stand up and sing.

"If you ever find yourself stuck in the middle of the sea, I'll sail the world to find you. If you ever find yourself lost in the dark and you can't see, I'll be the light to guide you," his voice rang out. He sang softly, as Puck reached for a guitar from under his chair and started strumming. Finn's eyes were closed, but he pointed directly at Kurt when he said "you".

Rachel continued, "Find out what we're made of, what we are called to help our friends in need," the soprano hit each note perfectly and beautifully. The normal intensity of her voice was missing, and her tone was sugary, like honey. She sounded almost like Colbie Caillat. Kurt thought it sounded sincere, even, like maybe this was how she resonated when she really meant something.

The entire choir got out of their chairs and joined into the chorus. "You can count on me like one, two, three. I'll be there and I know when I need it. I can count on you like four, three, two, and you'll be there 'cause that's what friends are supposed to do, oh yeah, ooh, ooh." Their choreographed dancing had clearly been put together within the last few hours, but it was sweet nonetheless. Kurt was already starting to feel tears creep into the corners of his eyes.

Quinn was the next to be heard, "If you toss and you turn and you just can't fall asleep, I'll sing a song beside you." He noticed that she watched Sam the entire time she spoke, which made him smile. They were good for each other, in his opinion. The song was supposed to be dedicated to him, but he was starting to wonder who else was secretly singing to their loves. His lips grew wider when he thought about whom was maybe singing to him, and almost laughed out loud at the silly idea.

"And if you ever forget how much you really mean to me, everyday I will remind you," sung out Sam to Mike, standing right next to him. Sam blew his partner an air kiss, and Mike leaned all the way back to pretend to catch it in the palms of his hand. When he did a back flip to reach it, he made a heart in his hands at Sam. Sam grinned, and caught Quinn's eye, making him blush.

"Find out what we're made of, what we are called to help our friends in need," Tina trilled. Kurt had never been particularly fond of her voice, but it was touching that she had a part in the song, when he hardly knew her.

"You can count on me like one, two, three. I'll be there and I know when I need it. I can count on you like four, three, two, and you'll be there 'cause that's what friends are supposed to do, oh yeah, ooh, ooh."

"You'll always have my shoulder when you cry," Mercedes lifted up her voice, "I'll never let go, never say goodbye." The notes she hit definitely hadn't been written in Bruno Mars' original "Count On Me", but they sounded brilliant.

"You can count on me like one, two, three. I'll be there and I know when I need it. I can count on you like four, three, two, and you'll be there 'cause that's what friends are supposed to do, oh yeah, ooh, ooh."

Puck and Artie harmonized the last line together, "You can count on me 'cause I can count on you."

The song and dance ended, and Mr. Shuester finished his speech. "Kurt, before you head off to your next class, just remember what we've all been saying. Everyone gets dumped at some point in their lives. Don't think of it as everything ending. Think of it as you getting this under your belt, and moving on from that person. We'll always be here for you, because that's what families do. That's what we are here, a family."

Brittany called out from the back eagerly, "Like in _Lilo and Stich_, 'Ohana means family, family means nobody gets left behind. Or forgotten'." Her face lit up, as if she'd just said the most inspiring thing in her life. Everyone in the bunch smiled, even Kurt.

"That's right, Brittany. In this club, we're a family," Mr. Shuester finished.

Kurt took in everything Mr. Shue and the glee club had spoken. They really did have a point, he had to admit. Nothing was going to come of him sitting at home, hardly eating and dressing like a hot mess. He was the fabulous Kurt Hummel, smart, amazing, sexy, and independent. He was damn well proud of who he was, too. So what if he thought him and Blaine would last forever? If every relationship that had said the same thing did, people would marry their kindergarten sweethearts, and divorce attorneys would be out of a job. Kurt had barely begun his life, and when he got into college, he wouldn't have to run to the first gay kid he saw. There'd be other guys in his life, just like in anyone else's. Hardly anyone ever married their high school boyfriend or girlfriend, and look what happened to those that did. Everyone knew Mr. Shuester's ex-wife, Terri, had turned to be a sociopathic flat out bitch. He accidently let loose a laugh at the mental image of Blaine turning out to be a crazed male version of Terri Shuester.

"Oh, crap. He's going crazy," whispered Puck loudly.

Mercedes squinted her brown eyes at Kurt, "You okay?"

Kurt's face broke out into an enormous grin. "You guys are right. I'm not doing myself any favors, handing the situation like this. I'm done moping and acting like a depressing Spanish soap opera star. I've had my moment, but it's about time I get back in the saddle, hitch back up, and start being myself again. Thanks, you guys. And I honestly mean that."

His step brother smiled, and stood up. "I didn't think it was going to be this easy. I kind of figured we'd have to brain wash you with help from the Soviet Union like they do in Black Ops, or something. But I'm happy you get what we're saying." Finn stepped off the raised floor and awkwardly hugged his step brother. Kurt's face blushed rabidly at the public display of affection, but embraced him back.

It didn't take long for the rest of the group to surround Kurt in an enormous hug, even including Zizes, who he had spoken maybe two words to, Mike, the same, and Santana, who was usually too busy bitching at the world to show any form of endearment. He felt a tear running down his cheek, and giggled as he wiped it away. Happy tears, those were old friends he hadn't seen in a while, he mused in his mind. "I love you guys," he lauded.

Mike patted him on the back, "No problem, man." A bit odd in Kurt's opinion, but then again, he did just sing him a song. Maybe he's just in the Kurt lovin' spirit, he figured.

"I hate to break this up, guys," Mr. Shuester cut in, But we have to get back to writing the song for sectionals. Now, it's been.."

His voice carried off, and before they knew it, class was over. Most of the jocks and girls were out of the door first, Rachel lingering to schedule a private rehearsal or something with the pit, and Artie getting wheeled off by Mercedes once the doorway cleared up. Mr. Shuester and the pianist had headed to their offices. Kurt checked his phone for new messages from Burt or anyone, quickly sending his father a reply about dinner, as a new text popped up on the tiny screen.

_New Txt Msg: Wes_

Kurt's left eyebrow cocked, "What is Wes Warbler texting me for?" he mumbled under his breath. They'd never really been very close, hardly texting, ever. Anyways, he'd figured in the break up that he would go back to being Blaine's, as if he were a possession forked over in a divorce settlement. "Hey Kurt- U doing A-OK?"

"Yeah..? Why wouldn't I be?" Kurt rapidly typed back on the small slide out keyboard. His answer was vague enough not to imply anything. Almost instantly, his phone buzzed again. "Sry, rong prsn!"

What the hell? It said "Kurt" in the message. Weird, Kurt thought, and then shook it out of his head. There'd be time to over analyze it later. Only then as he was walking to the door did he notice not everyone had left, as he had earlier thought. Mike Chang stood, leaning in the doorway in plaid knee length shorts and a navy striped sweatshirt. Good lord, someone needed to teach the poor boy about matching patterns, and not dressing like a colorblind hillbilly.

"Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?" mike said, running a hand through his thick black hair.

"Of course," Kurt replied, slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder. "What about, may I ask?"

"This might come off as a little weird, or offensive, or stupid, I don't know how you'll take it. But I just wanted to, um, let you know something." Mike looked as tense as he did before he went on stage to lead the show choir's dance in Santana's rendition of Amy Winehouse's "Valerie" last year.

"It takes quite a bit to offend me. You kind of develop a thick skin, being the only openly…" Kurt stopped himself, and silently decided to just drop it. "You were saying?"

"Let's walk and talk. Our lockers are almost right next to each other, same wall and everything," added Mike quickly before he started. "Here it goes. I wanted to tell you, I get what you're going through with that Blaine guy. I know the Shue said all relationships were different and unique and everything, but ours are actually pretty close. We both sought after someone who had personalities and traits identical to ours. You, someone who was gay, musically gifted, and sensitive. Me, Asian, different from your average high schooler, and pretty laid back. We both got them, cool as hell. Then one night, out of the blue, they take us over and dump us flat on your ass. It was our first relationship, and our entire worlds shattered. Tina and I, that was everything I lived for. And when it was over, I was completely and absolutely miserable. I couldn't dance, I couldn't laugh, I didn't want to be near anyone. Call me a stupid dramatic teenager, but it's true. People forget that while our feelings might be young and overrated sometimes, our emotions are just as real as they will be when we grow up. My split with Tina happened over the course of the summer, and three days later, my church sent me off on a fourteen day mission trip. I really didn't have anyone to talk to about it, unlike you. Thing is though, even if I had had the combination of Internet, mobile service and people I knew well around me…I doubt if I would have handled the situation any differently. Talking to someone else about it just didn't appeal to me. I'm not the most open person in the world." They reached their lockers, but Mike kept his voice soft and rested against the locker next to Kurt's. "Truthfully, and you can't tell anyone this, but this is, like, the first time I've ever been open like, ever, I suppose. Including being with Tina. For a girl, she didn't ever want to talk much. But enough about me."

Kurt had to cut in. "Mike, don't get me wrong. I've enjoyed talking to you, and I completely understand what you're saying. I really do. But, why are you telling me this?"

"Cause, I think we're the only two kids in glee club that have the same situation. First loves that walked out on us, and no alternating teenager to take their place like everyone else. We both need a boost of confidence, and a buddy to lean on. We could be each other's support system, you know? I just want you to know that if you ever need anyone to talk to, or want to hang out, just shoot me a text. If you don't have my number, go ahead and ask Mercedes. Oh, and if you're going to repeat this conversation to anyone, how about we leave out the little speech of mine, please?"

"Of course not. No problem," Kurt said automatically, grabbing his text books for Spanish and slamming the door so that it shut tight. "You know, Mike Chang? I'm kind of surprised it took us this long to talk. We see each other every day, and it seems to me that we're more alike that a lot of people."

"Yeah, it's kind of weird, isn't it?" Mike chuckled, "Well, see you, Kurt." He started to walk off to his class, but stopped a second later. "One last thing, just so you don't get the wrong idea. I'm serious about being friends, but I'm not trying to come onto you or anything. I have no interest in getting in your pants. I mean, I'm sure you'd be an awesome boyfriend and everything. Wait, that came out wrong. I mean, I'm not gay or anything."

"No worries. I'm not the kind of guy who would rebound on the first guy who talked to me. You're not my type anyways. I'm more into the short, bad dancing kind of guys who can sing and wear school uniforms to parties. No offense."

Mike nodded his head feverently, "None taken, bro. Text me to hang out sometime?"

"Will do." As Kurt set in the direction of his next class, he smiled while he slid his hand in his back pocket. His palm rubbed against photograph paper. To think, just a bit ago, he'd been tearing up over throwing away a silly picture of Blaine. Things were going to start looking up for him, he knew it.

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><p><strong>Reviews? :3<strong>

**Next chapter posted soon, don't give up on me or Kurt yet!**


	4. Fear Pressure

I am so, so, so, so sorry.

I mean it, too.

I really am, you guys. I'm really sorry! It's been way too ridiculously long in me getting this story up. What, about a month? Seriously, I'm awful. This is about the seventh version of this chapter I wrote. The other six just didn't get across what I wanted to happen, you know? But this version finally got everything I wanted to happen. Feel free to send me dozens of angry messages, I promise I won't cry too hard. Unless you want me to.

Next chapter's in Kurt's perspective, and then I switch over to Blaine for 3 or 4. Then Mike for 2, maybe, and then their perspectives get muddled together for a while. This story's going to be rated M later on.

Please review? I'd 'preciate it, yo.

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><p>It had been over two weeks since Blaine had called off his and Kurt's romance at the Lima Bean, and a little over a week since the "Intervention". The past nine days, Kurt had accomplished quite a bit. While he hadn't expected himself to spin around right onto his feet in a snap, he was honestly pretty proud of how far he'd come since the Lima Bean Incident. Restoring his self-confidence and dignity proved to be simpler than he'd thought. There had been a part of him, a small strutting butterfly of devotion to himself that had reminded him that while he might still love Blaine, no amount of amour can overcome your respect for yourself. He'd been too busy being heartbroken that he'd forgotten to listen to the voice inside of him that craved inner happiness.<p>

The first night after the "Intervention", he'd lain in bed, staring at the glow in the dark stars on his ceiling. For the first time in what seemed like ages, he wasn't crying, and there wasn't depressing love songs or dreadful movies playing on his television. In the midst of the silence, he'd caught himself listening to his conscience. Thought after thought, by morning, wide-eyed Kurt had remembered the things he was, independently. Truthfully, remembering who he was had been something that he'd had to train himself to do again.

Physically, Kurt had been improving noticeably quickly. He'd started eating again, and no longer looked like he could be the third Olsen twin. His basement bedroom had been restored to order (his half, at least. Finn's still resembled a locker room/fast food joint/island of misfit toys.) He'd quickly picked up on his old personality, his sarcastic laughs, and air kisses to his girls when he passed them in the hallway. The pictures and silly novelty gifts Blaine had left Kurt sat in a shoe box on a shelf in his closet. He hadn't touched a single one of them since he'd thrown them in.

At home, even his father had noticed. As he'd been running out the door to get to school a few days before, Burt had stopped him. "It's nice to have you back, son. For a while there I thought you'd lost yourself for a long time to come," Burt had admitted from the breakfast table. Kurt hadn't known what to say back at the time, but his dad's uncharacteristic confession had meant a lot to him.

Kurt was currently lying on his bed listening to Finn's Trace Adkins album playing from across the room. He wasn't a country kind of guy, but in the spirit of the evening, the two of them sang along with Trace's deep, rumbling voice anyways. Both Finn and Kurt didn't have plans that night, which was something that was unheard of for a Friday at the Hudmel house. They didn't talk much between the two of them, but their voices rang together to the stereo. He thumbed through the latest Italian Vogue, his phone suddenly buzzing in his pocket. Sliding his hand down to pull it out, he got a hold of it and checked the caller I.D. The number wasn't recognized in his contact list, which had been happening a lot lately. "Wes, David, what the Hell do you two want?"

"Is this a bad time?" a familiar voice queried after a short pause.

"Oh, God. Sorry, Mike," Kurt frantically apologized, "Two of Blaine's friends keep calling me, saying "Hello? Sorry, wrong person," every time from a different number. I don't have you programmed into my phone, so when I couldn't distinguish the number, I figured it was them again."

"That's bizarre of them," Mike commented over the phone, not sounding as if he really knew what to think about it, "Anyways, if you're not too busy being stalked by two private school boys, want to come check out the new Will Ferrell comedy playing over at the cinema with Artie and me? The film starts in about half an hour, but we can come pick you up right now."

Kurt stared into the glowing screen in his hand. A boy, a _straight, male, _actual _boy _had asked him to a late Friday night movie. Not a date, just a friendly invitation. He knew he shouldn't be making a big deal out of this, but Kurt's insides flipped over like a rambunctious dolphin at Sea World. Secretly, Kurt had never been invited to hang out with just the guys before. He had been marked since birth as One of the Girls. He'd never really minded, of course, but fantasies of elbowing each other in the side and throwing Cool Ranch Doritos in each other's faces filled many spots in his mind. Kurt didn't want to offend them, but he'd never considered Blaine and the Warblers' to be guy-guy friends, since even the straight ones were as flamboyant as Liberace. The boys of Dalton Academy were swell, but much more feminine that what Kurt had in mind.

This was his chance. The last step in getting over Blaine Anderson was clearly finding something new about himself that he'd never experienced before. Man Tribe certainly qualified in those regions. So what if he hadn't really expected Mike to follow through with his conversation nine days before? Mike had shown his true colors, and Kurt was going to accept.

"Kurt?" Mike hummed from the speaker. "Should I take this as a no?"

"No! I mean, sounds good!" he grinned, trying to contain himself. "I don't have any plans tonight."

"Great, 'cause we already checked you in on Facebook." A ping on his Mac across the room notified him that Mike was telling the truth. "We know your address from picking up Finn, don't worry. See you in fifteen." Before Kurt could reply, Mike had already hung up.

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><p>"FINN HUDSON!" A frantic voice screeched loudly from across the room. Finn jumped in surprise, clumsily falling off his mattress onto the itchy carpet. Whacking his forehead on the edge of the frame, he rubbed his throbbing eye with his hand.<p>

"What the Hell, Kurt?" he groaned irritated. As much as he liked his step-brother, Kurt had a tendency to be a little…absolutely annoying. If he wasn't gay, he'd suggest Kurt hook up with his girlfriend, Rachel, because they had such similar personalities that it was eerie to be in the same room with them sometimes. Neither would ever admit it, however, as their rivaling talents kept them constantly bickering at each other. Even their friendship was annoying in Finn's eyes.  
>He pulled himself up, as a quilted sport coat smacked him on the face. "Sorry!" Kurt apologized lamely, his normally smooth face scrunched up in frustration and nervousness. "," he whimpered, biting the bottom of his lip as he stared at the vast piles of clothes that had been strewn out of his closet. "I have polo's, and kilts, and oxfords, and pinpoint regents, and poplin estates, and crewneck sweaters, and cardigans, and shawl turtlenecks, and pleated chinos, and hound's-tooth corduroys, and Durango wash jeans, and boat shoes, and ankle boots, and I have absolutely nothing to wear! You have to help me, Finn. You just <em>have <em>to. You're a boy, you know what to wear!"

The expression on Kurt's face made Finn want to giggle; his desperation to impress these simple high school boys was kind of adorable, in a non-creepy kind of way. So much time spent trying to one-up the girls in their fashion choices had left him striving for perfection. He was pretty sure that his stepbrother knew that the boys wouldn't care an ounce about what he was wearing, as long as it wasn't a ball gown or his Gaga costume. But Kurt's need to show off with his normal crowd also pushed him to blend in with the contrary. His want to disguise himself was less of trying to change himself; he knew Kurt wouldn't ever try to go down that route again. It was rather wanting to be One of the Guys for the night that had pushed him into dressing the role of Average Teenage Boy Number Three.

Once last glance at the puppy-dog face, and Finn sighed. "Alright, just this once," he caved in, already digging through Kurt's couture mountains.

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><p>Fifteen minutes after Mike's phone call, and Kurt had been decked out in the things that had been sitting dustily at the bottom of his wardrobe. Gracious for Finn's opinion, his upper body was covered in a vintage New York Yankee's t-shirt, a charcoal-colored windbreaker, and a pair of casual dark wash jeans. While he felt more comfortable in paisley and satin, the cotton and denim was kind of an interesting look on him. He appeared almost…rough. Almost…sexy, even.<p>

While he fiddled with the idea, a handicapped-accessible van crookedly pulled up in front of the Hudmels house. A heavy sliding door opened as it parked automatically. Trying not to look like a fool running out his door to the car, he nonchalantly strode to the curb, stretching his gangly arms.

"Get in, loser. We're going shopping," Artie yelled out his rolled down window, nodding his head in a pair of Kanye West red aviators.

Kurt threw his head back as he cackled at the reference. It was exactly something Mercedes would have said. "I'm impressed you've even seen that movie. Isn't it a chick flick?" he laughed, hopping into the back seat.

"Oy, you're one to judge?" Artie snapped, but his smile as he turned around let Kurt know that the remark was good-hearted.

Kurt shook his head, as if he were disappointed in him.

Artie scowled into the rearview mirror as he took off forward. "Boo, you whore."

Mike stuck his head around the passengers' seat, coming face to face with Kurt. His royal blue sweatshirt was unzipped far enough for him to reveal his distressed Green Lantern tee. His eyebrows rose as he smiled at the boy behind him. "I'm glad you could come, man," he grinned, "I'd have figured you'd have plans or something, on this exciting night in the heart of Ohio."  
>"Oh, you know how I roll," he kidded, slapping his hand in the air as if he were dismissing the thought. "This town just isn't big enough to handle me."<p>

Mike chuckled, turning back around. "Well, I'm happy to know the company of Artie and I is sufficient to your needs." As he spoke, the formerly commercial-packed radio switched to a song Kurt hadn't heard in ages. Mike seemed to be thinking the same thing, as he exclaimed, "The Killers! Hot damn, I forgot how much I liked them."

Artie rolled his eyes, "They're so two thousand and late, bro. alternative 80's style bands are so Neon Trees nowadays."

"But the Killers are the closest thing we have to good rock that isn't ruined by Mr. Shuester," Kurt pined from the backseat.

"Since when do you like classic rock?" Artie asked in surprise, furrowing his brows. "I thought you were more into Broadway and Top 40. Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course," he interjected quickly, "but it just doesn't seem to be up your alley."

"Since Finn and I became stepbrothers, I've been opened up to many sides of music that I'd never thought about before. Country, classic rock, alternative," Kurt explained, understanding their confusion. It'd only been since the last few months that he'd developed an appreciation for things other than soundtracks. "The Killers included. _Believe Me, Natalie _was my song of choice for ages."

From the front of the van, Mike and Artie nodded, obviously impressed. Kurt could feel the apples of his cheekbones become tinted with lollipop red. "Aw, Kurt, you're blushing!" Mike laughed, his smile flashing again. At the sight of it, Kurt was subliminally urged to grin as well. It was as if his characteristic beam was contagious. "It's alright, Kurt. I appreciate your twist in music taste. They can be _our _band," he giggled, batting his eyelashes flirtatiously. If he hadn't made it clear the week prior, Kurt would have questioned if Mike was coming on to him.

That time, all three of them laughed. The sound of the Killer's _Glamorous Indie Rock and Roll _soon enveloped the car, occasionally Mike and Artie commenting on the last football practice and what they'd need to fix if they'd have a chance against Waco High, Dalton Academy, and Carmel High School. Kurt fiddled with the steel buckle on his seatbelt, not quite sure how to join into the conversation. He didn't say much until they parked under a moth-flooded light post outside of the theatre.

As Artie took the key out of the ignition, Mike leaned over to press the door opener button. The door creaking open, a steel contraption that vaguely resembled a bridge lay out from the edge of the van to the black asphalt. "You get out first, Kurt," Mike said expectantly as he undid his own buckle.

"Right," Kurt said quickly, a tad embarrassed that he'd been staring at the metal too long to figure it out. "Do I walk on the ramp, or…"

"It seriously doesn't matter. You can jump over it or walk off it or call up your hot air balloon from Narnia," Artie informed, sounding slightly impatient. "If it can hold my weight and the chair, I'm pretty sure it can handle all 120 pounds of you." Kurt whipped his head to the right to glare at Artie for the snide comment about his small size, but Artie's face looked more anxious to get out of the car than scurrilous.

One leap into the handicapped parking spot and a few minutes later, the trio entered the heavily air conditioned building. Mike led the pack towards the queue between the red velvet ropes. "The 8:15 showing, right?" Mike asked, peering up at the long list of "Now Showing" titles.

"It's only 7:45, so yeah, that should work," Kurt replied after checking the time on his limited edition platinum Tiffany's watch.

"Bitchin"," Mike reached into the back pocket of his fire truck red skate shorts and grabbed a pleather wallet that had the British Union Jack printed on the front. Presenting it to Kurt, "I'm going to go run off to the Little Asian's Room for a second, buy my ticket for me? Oh, and if you guys go to the concessions before I get back, grab me some Red Vines and a medium Cherry Icee?"

"No problem," said Kurt as he took the wallet. Mike scampered off towards the restrooms, leaving Kurt pushing Artie's wheelchair through the thick stained carpet. Kurt rubbed the back of his own neck, not quite sure what he should say.

"So…how about them Cavaliers?" Kurt sputtered.

Artie rotated his torso in his chair to look Kurt eye to eye. Kurt recognized the look; Mercedes and Artie both did it quite well. With Mercedes, it was more, "Girl, you bitch best know what you be doin'." But with Artie, it matched closer to, "Boy, you hella trippin'."

"It isn't basketball season, is it?"

"So what's going on with you and Blaine?"

The randomness of the question caught Kurt off guard. His blinking faltered for a split second, "What do you mean?"

Artie shrugged casually, "Just wondering if you two were still talking or anything."

_Why the Hell would Arthur Abrams care in the least about Blaine? _Kurt asked himself mentally, a quizzical look on his face. "No, I haven't seen a hair of him since he bro-we ended things," Kurt said slowly, choosing his words carefully.

Artie nodded, as if he accepted that answer. "I'm sorry, man. Not that I pity you or anything-nothing sucks more than getting pitied. I should know," he laughed, a sardonic tone poorly hidden in his throat. "So I'm not going to bullshit you or anything."

"Well...thanks, Artie," Kurt stumbled, feeling the blood rush to his face.

"Quick question, though, then I'll completely drop the subject," Artie quipped. Kurt rolled his eyes, not quite keen on continuing the conversation, but hey, two more seconds couldn't hurt.

"No problem, go ahead," he sighed, wheeling the chair up to the scratched surface of the ticket counter.

"What were those names of those two guys he hung out with most of the time? I've overheard you talking about them to Mercedes a few times, and I'm curious," he explained as he dug in his billfold for a ten or a twenty, eyes locked on the coins and lint that littered the bottom of it. His face turned burgundy as he realized that he was coming up short.

"I'll take care of it," Kurt offered, producing a pair of twenty dollar bills. That was all the money he'd made babysitting the Levitt boys, six hours of chasing after a pair of red-headed triplets that lacked the ability to sit down or talk below the audible range of an opera singer. He hated to part with it, but the pimply faced teenager in the crimson vest had already begun to stare the pair down.

Artie looked up at him with gratitude, mouthing an "I Owe You" appreciatively. Kurt smiled modestly, as if to say that it wasn't a problem. "Oh, and Wesley and David?" he proposed cautiously as the currency was torn away from him by the cashier's dry, greedy hands.

"Theatre seventeen," the cashier grumbled, voice cracking as he sniffed loudly and wiped his running nostrils with his hands. With the same fingers, he clumsily gripped the tickets and handed them to his disgusted customer. Kurt flinched in appall as he picked up the three tickets at their corners and shoved them into his pocket.

"Ahh," ended Artie, the thought to explain to Kurt why exactly he'd needed to know the head Warblers' names clearly not crossing his mind. Kurt bit his tongue, forcing himself not to say another word about the subject. As well as he was dealing with the brea-their ending things, and really wanted to get on with his life, he was a bit anxious when it came to the topic of Blaine.

Everyone had been very tight-lipped when it came to discussing Blaine in front of Kurt, obviously not wanting to bring up anything that could send the emotional teen running to the choir room in tears. Secretly, though, he'd love one of them to slip up and say his name at least once. It was hard to be independent when you knew that there was something missing from your former self, and no one was willing to speak of it. Well, besides Artie, now.

Kurt had been the first one to change his Facebook relationship status to "single", but Blaine was still on "in a relationship". He dug his clear-polished fingernails into the palm of his hand, trying to distract himself from his unwise thoughts. On the inside, though, he was dying to know if Blaine just hadn't gotten around to changing it, or if he really was _already _in a relationship.

Kurt quickly whacked his left Prada fall/winter collection tennis shoe into the other one. _Now, none of that, Kurt. We've come too far to run back into our little Blainers safe spot, _he barked at himself mentally. The imaginary Broadway audience in his mind applauded him.

"Am I right, man?" Artie chuckled, snapping Kurt out of the clouds.

"Oh, yeah," he agreed, not having the foggiest of what Artie had just said. If he ever intended on having friends, he'd have to learn to actually focus on one thing for more than 30 seconds at a time.

The rest of the wait for the concessions stand consisted of the two divulging information on glee club members. Nothing too harsh, just simply typical church ladies talk. Kurt'd had always had a feeling that Artie was as bad at keeping a secret as he was, especially someone else's.

Once they got to the front of the line, they began piling their food onto the flimsy plastic tray Artie had slid onto his lap. Mike's Red Vines (Kurt felt a twinge of irony when he thought of how the first time he'd gone to the theatre with another guy, and he'd gotten Blaine's signature treat), a Cherry slushy, Artie's cheddar-and-ranch-seasoned popcorn that reeked of spices overload, a Code Red Mountain Dew, and lastly Kurt's dainty Diet Coke and salt-free popcorn. They exited the line to see Mike waving them down from the other side of the theatre. Kurt wheeled over Artie, dodging spilled drinks and dropped concessions buckets.

"Ticket, bro," Mike ordered, thrusting his nicely tanned arm into Kurt's chest.

Kurt smiled snarkily, jutting his chin prominently. "A little bit grabby, there, Mr. Chang?"

Mike put his hands on his protruding hip bones in a very Santana-like fashion. "Who you finna think you's talking to, boy? No me gusta your tone."

"Them's fightin' words," Kurt growled back, baring his teeth.

"We don't have a problem, here, now, do we, boys?" Artie interjected in his best Principal Figgins impersonation. He had everything down pat, from the crinkled eyebrows to the arms crossed firmly over his torso, even the accent.

Kurt was the first to break down into giggles. "You two are deranged," he concluded, rummaging in his pocket for Mike's ticket. He wrapped the flossy paper in between his fingertips and passed it over to Mike.

"Now, that wasn't too difficult, was it, Kurt?" Mike purred, handing it over to the theatre usher like an assembly line. The gawky dirty blonde ripped it into two halves, handing one side back over. He repeated the action twice more, and the idiosyncratic trio headed into theatre number sixteen.

* * *

><p>They had to sit in the very front; of course, so that they could get Artie's wheelchair in. the showing room was almost completely packed, not surprisingly for Lima on a weekend night. The two front-and-center rows behind them were fairly empty as expected, save for a ginger couple who obviously didn't come for the public entertainment and two odd fellows in dark sweatshirts, hoods raised indoors. <em>Peculiar, and tacky,<em> Kurt noted.

As the lights dimmed in the theatre, a thought struck Kurt's mind. He whipped his head around again, eyes darting from tier to tier. There was a lack of large groups of people together. It seemed to him as if everyone in the room was either a cuddling couple or a handful of college/high school age guys.

_Maybe girls weren't really into Will Ferrell_, Kurt considered, and then decided against it. Tina and Mercedes quoted _Anchorman_ as if it was their actual life. Zizes had been the first to announce to prospect of a _Stepbrothers 2_. Most notably, Brittany had shown up to school once last winter bearing striking resemblance to Ferrell's infamous Buddy the Elf costume, and had asked everyone who walked by her lunch table their favorite color while pouring maple syrup onto her ham and cheese sandwich. Anyways, Kurt was the closest you could get to two X-chromosomes without pulling a Bono, and he respected _Stanger than Fiction_ and _Talladega Nights_ highly.

Kurt slowly turned back around in his seat, careful to not make an obnoxious squeak in the process. _What kind of film is this?_ Soon, the Sundance logo shone from the projector at the back of the theatre.

"What?" Artie said under his breath, popcorn kernels stuck between his teeth.

"What?" Kurt whispered, leaning in towards him. Prickles of electricity had already started to form on his spine, something that occurred when his gut was telling him that something unsettling was coming.

"This is supposed to be a Paramount Pictures movie, isn't it?" Artie recalled, the stench of cheddar-and-ranch radiating from his mouth. Kurt fought the urge to plug his nose.

"Are you sure we're in the right theatre?" Mike hissed from Kurt's other side.

On the screen, a gloomy road appeared, lightening flitting across the ominous sky. With every roll of thunder, a foreboding glow was cast of the audience spookily. "Doesn't look like the previews to me." Mike fumbled his hands into his sweatshirt, grabbing an already crinkled stub. He held it up to the screen, squinting his eyes at the smeared digits in the middle. "This is seventeen, right?" The tone of his voice told the other boys that he already knew the answer.

"I could've sworn he said sixteen," Kurt objected soberly, tight lipped.

A scrawny tree covered in rainy mist and cobwebs passed them, making Kurt feel ill. Slowly, the words _The Mausoleum_ sunk into the picture forbiddingly.

"Shit," Artie exclaimed, "this is that new indie horror flick!" His outburst broke the tension the morbid film had worked hard to produce, generating him plenty of "Shhhh!"s from the crowd. He flicked the bird at the red-headed pair who had yelled "Shut up, bitch!", and turned back to his seatmates. "What are we going to do?" he pleaded, cobalt blue eyes dour.

"Get our skinny white arses out of here?" Kurt offered immediately, careful to keep his voice low. He could feel his chest strain as the dissonant chords of the orchestra crept out of the speakers surrounding him.

"I wanted to see this anyway," Mike countered casually, reclining back in his chair. Oblivious to Kurt and Artie's horrified expressions, "If that doesn't bother you guys."

Kurt gulped, alarmed eyes dilating past their normal limits. There were few things Kurt hated. He hated knock offs. He hated the Southern Baptist Church. He hated feeling irrelevant in comparison to other people. Everything else, he could kick himself in the back and out up with it for an extended period of time. Besides one emotion.

Surpassing all of that, Kurt detested, abhorred, despised, repelled, derided, loathed, flat out spit upon, fear.

Fear of bullies. Fear of the dark. Fear of abandonment. Fear of superstitions. Fear of insanity. Fear of spiders. Fear of hospitals. Fear of being buried alive. Fear of being robbed while he was home alone. Fear of speaking in public and stumbling. Fear of losing everything in a natural disaster. Fear of the going to the dentist's. You name it, and Kurt had experienced a fear of it at some point in his life, including horror movies.

He had no interest in being here, especially without the comfort of a familiar hand or a fleece blanket to cover his eyes with when the chainsaws and demons came out. _Oh, God,_ he moaned to himself, feeling the shivers vibrating across his skin already. _There isn't a man in the world that could get me to sit here and take this._

Mike interrupted his thought, taking notice of the look of sheer terror plastered across Kurt's pale face. "Scary movies aren't your thing?" he ventured cautiously.

Kurt shook his head violently, panic stricken eyes locked on the red door with peeling paint and grime-covered scratches on its panel. _Creeeeaaaak, slam! Creeeeaaaak¸ slam! _The door rode with the wind in the dark, as if they were both personified objects premeditating the unpreventable eeriness and sudden leaps of petrified horror the film was soon to include. Kurt's heart beat heavily in-between the rattling bones of his ribcage.

"If you get frightened, just grab me. I don't care if you care me so hard you break skin," Mike offered, taking Kurt's stare off the screen. He met Mike's nerve-settling brown ones weakly, unable to nod or shake his head.

"Face your fears," he said, as if he'd known exactly what Kurt was thinking. The power lines on the screen rattled like a skeleton. "If it's unbearable, run like a bat out of hell. But you faced Karofsky and the football team last year, didn't you? That guy beat the shit out of you on a daily basis."

"Yeah, but Sam, Puckerman, Artie, and you had my back,-" he tried to snap, but it ended up as more of a pitiful whine.

Mike ignored his protests, and smiled patiently. "And two of those four are still here. I swear, nothing horrible is going to happen that will scar you for the rest of your life. You can take on a handful of bad actors and a few gallons of fake blood and body parts."

Kurt pondered over his new companion's argument as the movie's soundtrack began with a few plunks on an unturned piano in a minor key. It was a new feeling, this being pressured to do something he didn't have any desire to do, or really, any need to. It wasn't exactly peer-pressure; but-actually, it was _exactly _that. Mike was trying to get him to do something he didn't want to do, just for the Hell of it.

It wasn't like he was trying meth or running away to Mexico, though. It was simply to sit next to him in a crowded theatre, eyes partially open to bear witness to the gruesome murders of innocent characters. It wasn't hurting himself, or his family, or his life, or anyone. Mike wasn't being unrealistic in asking him to stay.

If this had been a movie date with Blaine, his ex-boyfriend would have soothed him with a simple, "It's all good, baby, we can leave right now. No need for courage all the time," and escorted him from the theatre nuzzling his shoulder and hand-feeding him Red Vines.

What Mike was telling him bluntly, was "You're no wuss. You've reigned victorious from battles far more severe than this. Take it like a man," and kicking him in the rear and into his red velvet seat.

This was the difference between Blaine's Kurt, and New Kurt. One whispered, "You have to believe in yourself," and the other cheered, "I believe in you!"

Mike wasn't leaving him to face this on his own. He wouldn't have told Kurt to tough it out if he knew he couldn't do it. This was nothing he couldn't handle, and he knew that. He could do this.

"Alright," Kurt sighed faintly. Mike's mouth grinned giddily as he ate a red stick of licorice, openly excited at the prospect of getting to see the film. After the vine had been completely swallowed, he lowered his hand to the armrest, nudging Kurt so that he subliminally knew he could grab onto it all he wanted.

Kurt smiled half-heartedly. "You owe me." That very second, the scene shot to an overhead view of the storm, turning the whole theatre almost purely black. He grab Mike's limb instantly, and stayed that way for the rest of the film.

Like he'd formerly though, there was a reason horror movies were named as such. He screamed high than some of the girlfriends behind him, all diving in simultaneously to the men next to them. Forgetting who he was holding onto more than once, Kurt shoved his face into Mike's shoulder. Artie snorted twice, until the part where the schizophrenic serial killer popped onto the screen unsuspected, and he found himself in the arms of Mike, too. For the rest of the picture, Kurt and Artie claimed Mike as their snuggle pillow they could turn to when they couldn't bear to look anymore.

By the time the end credits crept forth, Mike had been beaten around pretty badly. "Somehow, I didn't expect my night to end like this," Mike hummed calmly as the lights flickered back on. "And I hope a love fest on me wasn't on the menu for you two, either."

The pair glared at the dancer's amused expression, not answering him.

"Oh, come on. It wasn't that bad," Mike scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"At one point, I though Kurt had been murdered," Artie crowed.

"He was looking straight at me, through the camera. He saw my face, and I'm next. I'm next, and we all know it," managed Kurt, still shaking fiercely.

"That movie was sick," Artie insisted.

"Demented," Kurt bleated.

"Schizoid."

"Wrong."

"Sick."

"Sick as Hell," Artie finished. He fiddled anxiously with his fingers in his lap, and Kurt could see the sticky sweat glistening on his damp palms.

"Neither of you left, though," Mike reminded them, grabbing the last fistful of Artie's popcorn. He ignored the slow burn of Artie's eyes, directed at his chewing jaw.

"Shut up," Artie and Kurt moaned simultaneously.

Despite his protesting, Kurt had actually enjoyed the movie. A part of him was starting to distinct the kind of fear brought on purposely for amusement, and the kind forced on him by his deepest phobias. Being scared stiff here had a certain amount of…refreshment in it, he supposed. His mouth getting dry when the four-year-old girl had been trapped at the top of the stairs, heart pounding when the shadows extended past the crumbled gravestones, nails digging into Mike's skin when the teenagers became trapped in the crypt in the last fifteen minutes of the film.

It all gave him a wicked sort of adrenaline rush that hadn't turned out to be half bad. Screaming and clinging on for dear life to someone you hardly knew gave him a feeling of mental, physical, and emotional stimulation. It was the reason some people went cliff diving, or traveled into places that were declared unsafe. Kurt was infatuated with the idea of it.

Ten minutes later, Kurt, Artie, Mike, and two more bags of Red Vines (something Kurt was starting to chuckle at) were in the van and skidding across the highway. The moon hung from the sky like it had been stapled on a black curtain, the first hints of autumn stars twinkling. It was hard to admire the night, though, with Mike singing very off-key to _Human_ by the Killers.

"Are we hooo-miiin, or are we daaaaaaan-ser," he belted, straining Kurt's ears. He was almost glad to see his familiar doorstep once they reached his house, but a twinge of sadness developed in his chest as his feet met the driveway. This really had been his first night out with only guys, and he'd really enjoyed it. He'd always said that his dedication lied with the girls, but now, he really wasn't too sure. It was easy for him to find things in common with Mercedes, Rachel and Santana, but Mike and Artie…this was a side of him he hadn't been able to exercise before. They'd been hilarious in a way that Kurt hadn't experienced, apart from Finn's sleepovers from across the bedroom. A change from the usual romantic comedy on Ladies' Night, too. If they'd gone to a horror flick with him, he would have been the protector, not the protected. He wasn't one to be a damsel in distress, but it was nice not to carry the burden of responsibility for once in his life.

The three of them had talked about cars, music, and even some more typically-feminine topics, from gossip to the one Blaine conversation with Artie. He certainly hadn't expected it to be this easy to get along with two straight guys. Maybe he'd been wrong to automatically assume that he'd only be comfortable in the company of girls and the Blazered ones. He definitely wouldn't mind hanging out with them again, he pondered, as he gave a wave and headed towards his breezeway.

_Question was, did they want to? _He asked himself, turning around one last time to look at the van's passengers. _Was I too out there, or quiet, or awkward, or scared, or dramatic, or girly, or-_

"Catch you later, Kurt!" Artie shouted out his unrolled window. "To be honest, I wasn't expected it to be this fun. Glad you came along, man. Do it again sometime?"

_Well, there's _that_ answer. _"Just say my name, and I'll be there!" he yelled back, grinning from underneath his porch light as moths fluttered around his glowing face.

Mike leaned across Artie and stuck his head out. "That wasn't a question. We're hanging out again, soon. Right? Thought so. See you around, bud." His grin matched Kurt's, until Artie slowly stepped on the gas. Sitting up, his eyes kept in contact with Kurt's, and smiled gently as he waved goodbye.

Artie's van was soon on his way down the street, and Kurt in his bed. His hand-sewn Yankee's shirt was wrinkled, and the jeans had started to rub at the knee. He didn't even give it a second thought, though. _Screw Blaine Anderson,_ he giggled, sticking in his headphones to drown out Finn's Trace Adkin's, setting the iPod to his Killer's playlist. _This Is Your Life_ blared first, the plucking of guitar strings filling his ear buds. _This is my life,_ he reminded himself as he closed his eyes. _Screw Blaine Anderson. I can live my life damn well, and tonight proved it. So what if I don't have a handsome prince to rescue me? Why can't I be happy with Ariel's fish, Cinderella's mice, and Snow White's dwarfs? They were real friends, who stuck by their girl no matter what. No reason for happily-ever-afters. _The drowsiness that had resulted from his ecstatic behavior during the film was catching up to him, and he snuggled into his pillow.

_Wait for something better_

_No one behind you_

_Watching your shadows_

_You gotta be stronger than the story_

_Don't let it blind you._

He knew he was seconds away from sleep, and smiled to himself for the last time that night. _I don't need my fairy-tale ending. My story's only beginning._

* * *

><p>Me and reviews are like Rachel Berry and applesau-applause.<p> 


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